One Man's Fridays
This stool is so comfortable at the end of the bar
Never needing to look up, the barkeep knows my request
With the bills sprayed out before me, the drinks keep coming
Quietly, I would sit at Jake’s bar each Friday evening
Minding my own business, until this killer of a woman
Came through the door and took the stool next to me
Her name was Adelaide, an old-fashioned name
And so appropriate, as she drank her old-fashioneds
She was stunning, from head to toe, adorned in the best
One would think she was the richest in the world
One would be wrong.
She got to talking one evening with me and I could see
She wasn’t at all what she appeared to be or tried to portray
She had a need to be there at this bar, as I
Her life was rough, abusive father, mother died young.
She lived with and aunt who tried her best,
But it came a little too late in life.
She had her share of abusive relationships
and needed to forget them, the past.
My name?
Well it is of no importance as I am just a prop within the story
She said I had a great ear and seeing me each week brought joy
I cannot lie, I started to enjoy our time together each week
Each Thursday evening I would get my attire ready for the next day
Thinking, possibly, for one moment, it would please her
Each Friday, like clockwork, she arrived, she sat, we talked
We, for a brief moment in the span of a lifetime, shared something
Fridays come each week and months have passed since her last visit
I read in the paper some time ago about an untimely accitdent
Between a New York City taxi and a pedestrian
Her name was mentioned once
Listed as not having any next of kin, sad
It didn’t even make the front page, just a blurb on a latter page
She was definitely more than that, to me anyway
This stool is so comfortable at the end of the bar
Never needing to look up, the barkeep knows my request
With the bills sprayed out before me, the drinks keep coming
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008
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